That is the collective name for my dogs when they misbehave. Yesterday being no exception.

Since we moved I’ve decided to keep the dogs inside while I’m at work. On the majority of days it is no drama. On the other days little Willow has taken to shredding things, usually it’s the mail the thought ful Postie has popped through the front door (he seems unable to re-shut the gate, mind, but that’s another story).

I arrived home yesterday and as I opened the front door to the usual symphony of excited jumping and yelping I saw the day’s mail lying untouched on the carpet. In my head I punched the air in triumph, ‘hurrah’ I thought, ‘we’ve turned a corner’!

Not so. This photo shows the knitted lampshade I made a few years back, only now with Willow’s creative influence (she didn’t stop there, it was pulled from the socket and legs akimbo halfway up the hall). What you can’t see in this image is the shredded tv guide on the floor, the nibbled magazine basket and the grooming comb with a few chunks missing from the handle (I think that was racially motivated though).

So it’s off to the pet shop tomorrow for more doggie friendly things to chew and I’ll be dousing EVERYTHING else in tea tree oil to ward off bugger dogs inc. Little buggers!!

Had I not had my iPhone stolen on a recent trip to Thailand I could have regaled you with witty travel repartee some weeks back. But alas, alack, the photos I’d taken and the drafts I’d written in real time (ooer) on the wordpress app are now in the hands of some good-for-nuthin’ stranger. Incidentally, I hope they trip over their ego and something unfortunate befalls them henceforth, forthwth in return.

So while I wait for a travel insurance claim to be resolved to sort out a new phone, settle in to my new very grown-up job and continue to unpack boxes from my recent house move (yah, been ‘kinda’ busy) I have a long to do list. It goes something like this:

actually get up when my alarm goes off, the rest of the day just seems to work so much better on the rare times I do this

possums, that is. The dogs have decided that we clearly need to have our own real live example of a feral possum. Just what exactly they’d do with one if they caught it (apart from crap their pants) I’m not exactly sure. So now every morning and afternoon walk is devoted to the desperate search for one. To date the locale has been narrowed down to approximately 13 trees that we must dash to at breakneck speed immediately upon entering the off-leash area of Darling Gardens. After consuming about 95% of the poo the possums have thoughtfully left behind, we stretch ourselves to maximum height up the 30 foot high tree trunk to search valiantly and see if in fact we might be able to catch one unawares lurking near ground level (we’re really not that tall, see exhibit A at left). At this stage possums : 3 and dogs: 0. Thank god!

I feel I seem to be doing exactly that these past two weeks. AND it’s actually all on crap I really need! I’ve been bleeding out money on things like a hair cut and colour for me, haircuts for both dogs, getting five pairs of shoes repaired (tres sensible, I know), endless hayfever drugs and fixes as well as two dog kennels and dog food (ok, so that was a bit fancy but everyone at the park comments on how soft my dog’s coats are as a result). I’ve also lost my cooking mojo a bit so I tend to eat out a lot too or impulse buy groceries which ain’t turning out to be so clever either. I shudder to look at my bank account but I’m sooper hoping that I will come out ahead at Christmas time because I’ve finished my shopping for that two months ago!

It took a long time, I know. But I take the re-naming of said pooches verrrry seriously. After consulting baby naming books, dog naming websites, reading the names in movie credits and even the street directory I have now found a new name for the other dog.

Again in a nod to her origins, it gives me great pleasure to present Miss (Vespa) Paloma nee Rosealine. But that too is a mouthful, so for now we’ll stick to Paloma, ok?

Yesterday my friend Indy Gurl and I decided to go for a wander with the dogs. We’ve been on the hunt for a dog friendly, walking-distance-from-home watering hole for a while and not surprisingly we eventually ended up in one. It was quite a feat to get a table and we happened to be near another older, small dog. The four of them checked each other out and existed in harmony for the next hour or so. The sun was shining, the beer was cold, life was good. Then mid-sentence I heard the most blood curdling series of yelps and whines that no pet owner ever wants to hear. My little Willow was pinned under the other dog, I could have sworn she was trapped in it’s jaws at one point too. My instinct was just to get my dog out of there and so I broke every rule there is and thrust my hand in to the mellee but I couldn’t tell head nor tail of one dog to the other. I put Willow on my lap to check her for injuries and noticed some blood above her left eye. Later at home I bathed it with hot salty water but it was starting to swell and had me worried. When I checked on her at 3am it was very infected, tender and she yelped in pain as I tried to clean it. My local vet didn’t appear to be open later in the morning so with no mobile phone to call around for an alternative I decided to go begging at the Lort Smith Animal Hospital. They were great and managed to squeeze me in and little Willow just lay rather limp in my arms until it was her turn. Rob the vet was ace, he did some tricky MacGyver test and turns out she has a graze on the eyeball as well as the cut on the eyelid. She is now very jacked up on get better meds and will hopefully be back to her old self when I get home from work. Phew, that was the most expensive beer I ever had!